His lips curl up a little. I feel it against my shoulder. Eventually, he takes a step back.
“Come here.” I take his hand and pull him down into a recliner. It’s one of those really big, fluffy ones that practically turn into a bed.
“I’m not in the mood for this,” he says quietly. I hear the tension in his voice. It’s reflected in his body as I settle beside him.
“Good. I’m not in the mood either.” I pull my phone from my pocket and navigate to a website before offering him my phone. “Asexuality is like a twenty-sided die. No two sides are exactly the same, though they have one thing in common—they’re all part of the same die. One of those sides is yours. Maybe two or three.”
“I’ve looked at all these before,” he says.
“I know. But look again. I’m not being cliché or anything, but sometimes, it takes a specific situation or person to… awaken something inside you. It’s not a change or a fix. It’s a part that’s always existed, but you’ve never been in a position to recognize it before.”
Brek nods minutely. I watch as he scrolls slowly through the website. I keep him in my arms, still offering him comfort, which I think he wants since he periodically snuggles a little further into me.
After a while, he drops his hand to his lap, phone still in his grip, and closes his eyes. “Did you know there’s one called WTFsexual? When you don’t understand what the fuck is going on with you? That’s what I’m feeling right now.”
I chuckle. “For the record, I’m never going to be upset if you tell me you’re not into it. It won’t change anything between us. I won’t be mad. I’ll never make you feel guilty or shitty for not being interested.”
“What if you come in here for?—”
“Your consent isalwaysopen to change. You can revoke it at any time for any reason, no questions asked. It doesn’t matter what I come in here for.”
A small smile curls on his lips, and his eyes close again. “You know what? Don’t judge me on this. I think I feel this way because it’s never affected me before, but I always kind of thought that there was such a big fuss around consent that was blown out of proportion. Way too much explanation and whatever. Yes and no. What more do you need, right?”
“You feel differently now.”
“Yeah. As selfish as it sounds, I understand what it’s like to feel pressure to have sex, even if that pressure is all in my head. I needed to hear you reassure me several times. I never understood that before.”
“Hmm. I guess I don’t think I’ve ever really reassured anyone like I have you until now. Different situations call for different responses, right?”
“Are you still going to come around if I never want to… get sexual again?” Brek asks.
“Yeah, I think I am.”
He turns his head to look at me, and our eyes meet. I wonder how much he sees of me without his glasses. He seemed to read my phone well enough. Maybe he needs them for distance more than up close. I need them for everything, though they’re not a strong prescription. I’m not blind without them.
“Thanks.”
“For what?”
“Forcing your way into my room and making me talk. And for forgiving me for being a dick. I don’t know why that’s my initial response, but thank you for not holding it against me.”
“You’re misinterpreting your response, Brek. Your response isn’t shutting down to push everyone away by any means necessary. That’s just how it kind of manifests. Your response is self-preservation, and you don’t like anyone else coming in and influencing your answers. That’s why you keep everyone out. Your friends mean well, but they don’t like to take no for an answer when one of you is struggling. They love you, and they want to make it better.”
“You have a psychology degree or what?” he asks, eyes narrowed.
“No,” I laugh. “But I’m obsessive aboutknowing.I’d say that on any given day, I spend only a fifth of my day working. The rest is me falling down rabbit holes as some tiny thing catches my attention and I suddenly need to know everything about it.”
He grins. “Yeah?”
I nod. “Think of how productive I’d be if I could stay focused. I have dozens of different chairs that are supposed to help me focus. I have hundreds of different fidget toys and techniques that are supposed to help me focus. I take a very small dose of ADHD meds that is supposed to help me focus. They all probably work, but for only a small portion of my day, because when something more interesting comes along than my task at hand, I’m diving deep and there’s very little that will pull me from that hole.”
“They say you’re a tech genius,” Brek says, narrowing his eyes. “How are you productive if you can’t focus on anything?”
“Technology is magic,” I say, grinning. “Think about it. I can make a screen recognize a person. I can push a button and carve shit into the moon with a laser from thousands of miles away. I can create a prosthetic that’s so thoroughly connected to the nervous system that it acts as if it’s the missing limb. Modern technological advancements are real magic if you know the right spell. Think of everything we can do if we break the code? Or create the code?”
“I see. So when you’re passionate about something, your focus stays on the subject more easily.”
I laugh. “Yes. Exactly. But sometimes, I need to step away and come back with fresh eyes. Breakthroughs don’t happen overnight.”
